


Holy Knight

by Synchron



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Acceptance, Gen, I love credo, Reminiscing, and yes i will die on this hill, come try and kill me, he deserves more than what he got
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synchron/pseuds/Synchron
Summary: He has an uncle who teases him relentlessly, teaming up with his aforementioned stupid best friend to find new and inventive ways to get under his skin. And he has a father who is awkwardly learning how to overcome decades of isolation and misguided ambition. A father who, despite quiet protests to the contrary, absolutely adores his rowdy 'grandchildren'.So yes, there is very little that Nero could possibly dream about when he is so content with what he already has in the waking world. Except perhaps, for one thing.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	Holy Knight

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled across this [gorgeous piece of art](https://twitter.com/oshouyuD_666/status/1198159726988521477) this morning, and I've been thinking nonstop about it ever since, so here we are. I just couldn't help myself. 😭😭 I just love Credo so damn much?!??

For some, sleep is an escape. A moment of respite from the trials and tribulations that often come hand in hand with daily life. But for Nero, someone who has overcome his anger and sorrow, someone who found the strength within himself to grow and protect his loved ones, there is very little for Nero to dream about because everything he could possibly need from life, he already has within his grasp during the daylight hours. He has a fulfilling job, he has a handful of rowdy kids, he has a stupid best friend, he has Kyrie.  
  
And he has family now too.  
  
And not just in name. But in blood. Being raised in such an insular and secluded city, one that only knew how to scorn him for most of his early life, Nero was forced to learn from an early age that blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb; that even though his mother abandoned him, he was free to choose his own family. In reality, it was Credo's family that chose him, but that's neither here nor there.  
  
But having real, living blood relatives brings a whole new level of warmth. He has an uncle who teases him relentlessly, teaming up with his aforementioned stupid best friend to find new and inventive ways to get under his skin. And he has a father who is awkwardly learning how to overcome decades of isolation and misguided ambition. A father who, despite quiet protests to the contrary, absolutely adores his rowdy 'grandchildren'.  
  
So yes, there is very little that Nero could possibly dream about when he is so content with what he already has in the waking world. Except perhaps, for one thing.  
  
He dreams he's standing atop the orphanage, looking out over the rest of Fortuna. Although half of the city should still be derelict, broken and still yet to be cleared, the city is strangely exactly how it was prior to the Savior incident - still at the very peak of its glory. It's faint, but he can hear the quiet murmurings of the residents in the city, going about their lives not in a mindless drone, but with the cheery, upbeat nature that didn't take root within the city until well _after_ the Savior Incident. This clash in Fortuna's past and present should be jarring to Nero, but in this dream, it is as normal and natural as the warm sun that bathes him in its gentle glow. He's so at peace here that he barely even hears someone approaching him. In fact, Nero is oblivious right up until he hears a set of gentle wing beats before a single, lone feather drifts down in front of his face.  
  
Nero slowly lifts a hand and lets it fall into his palm. The breeze he can feel in his hair should be scooping it up and away, but it's oddly unaffected by the wind, and for whatever reason, his dream self knows why as a presence falls into step beside him, arms neatly tucked behind his back in a stance Nero is far too familiar with, yet also is far too nostalgic for.  
  
"Credo?" Again, it should be odd that he's reacting so mildly to this, but Nero just can't find it in himself to disturb the peace of the scene. "What're you doing up here?"  
  
His brother(?), his pseudo father(?), the lines became blurry for Nero in that regard a long time ago, but regardless, Credo looks as if he hasn't aged a day. But isn't that how it goes for people who have long since passed on? His face is still composed of hard lines and steep angles, but there's something in the way that his brow is relaxed that has Nero smiling - the only time Credo ever really made that face is in the presence of the people who loved most.  
  
"I suppose one would call it a perk - I'm free to come and go as I please." Though ever formal in his words and conduct, there's a rare hint of playfulness in Credo's voice.  
  
"Fair enough." The unusual nature of this dream grows easier to accept the longer Nero stands there on the rooftop of the orphanage, talking to a deceased man. It's no more strange to him than Nico's obsession with creating arms, literal or otherwise. Nero cants his head, and regards the protrusion from Credo's right shoulder blade, jutting out even in spite of the Order's crisp uniform. "Nice wing."  
  
As if sensing the compliment, the lone feathered wing stretches out behind him to reveal its expanse, filtering the sunlight through golden primary and secondary feathers before it folds away at Credo's back again. "Thank you," he says quietly, "I grew it myself."  
  
Nero simply snorts. "Uh huh."  
  
The two lapse into a comfortable silence after that, content to simply look out over the city they both fought to protect. One in the past, and the other in the present - two sides of the same coin.  
  
"How is Kyrie?" Comes the inevitable question. And yet, it still makes Nero shift on the spot like he's being interrogated by stern in-laws. He kind of is.  
  
"She's good! Great. I…" Nero has to pause to gingerly scratch at his nose. "Dante and Nico have been bugging me about popping the question, but it still feels too damn soon, you know?"  
  
At that, Credo can't help but chuckle to himself. "But she would say yes."  
  
Despite himself, and the fact that Nero intrinsically knows that too, he finds himself flustering all the same. "Well don't jinx it!! I'm already crazy nervous!"  
  
Here, Credo actually does laugh - a sound that only a very small handful were privy to hear. It's soft and a little rumbly, but it spreads to Nero too, and though his fluster has reduced to a soft pink that still dusts his cheeks, he still has to hide his face behind the back of his hand. Credo can't help but notice that even after all these years, Nero never really grew out of that habit of his.  
  
The more things change, the more they stay the same.  
  
"I'm glad you're well, Nero," Credo muses, "Fortuna is flourishing, people are... happy, and you've kept Kyrie safe. I'd neglected to tell you when I had the opportunity, but--" he draws in a deep breath, chest rising and falling, "--I am proud of you. Of who you grew to be. Of where you are now. You are a Holy Knight of the Order in its truest meaning."  
  
Even though the sunlight that bathes the rooftop in its soft glow is already so warm, when Credo places a gentle gloved hand on Nero's shoulder, it exudes a noticeably different temperature. Or is it a feeling? One that originates at his shoulder, but blossoms and spreads to the rest of him in such a fulfilling and overwhelming sensation that Nero can feel tears prick at his eyes. And then overflow.  
  
"Credo…" It's all Nero can do to not choke out a pained sob.  
  
The taller man only smiles, squeezing the shoulder of his protégé, his family in name and morals and integrity and all the ways that transcend blood. But all it does is make the tears flow even more freely. Feathers are raining down all around them now, softly, slowly, like snowfall.  
  
"You've grown strong, Nero."  
  
 _It was because of you_ , Nero desperately wants to say, _I couldn't have done it without you._ But his shoulders won't stop shaking, and the only sounds that escape him are quiet croaks.  
  
Then the sun flares, and his vision whites out.  
  
When Nero's eyes open, it's to the ceiling above his bed, a dampness around his eyes, and a concerned Kyrie next to him.  
  
"Nero?" Her hand gently seeks him, lacing her fingers through his. "Are you alright?"  
  
Despite the hollow pain in his chest, the fleeting memory of his dream beginning to flutter away like a single downy feather on the breeze, Nero feels more happiness than anything else, contented and at ease. Sitting up in his bed, he absently touches his shoulder, feeling a lingering phantom warmth under his palm.  
  
"Yeah, I'm okay. Just a dream."


End file.
